


Crash Landing

by iam93percentstardust



Series: Tumblr Prompts [19]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Gen, M/M, Past Character Death, Pre-Relationship, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25791757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iam93percentstardust/pseuds/iam93percentstardust
Summary: The thing is, Riley had been the best of them. He had. It was a simple fact. When they’d first gotten their wings, most of the rest of them had all needed lessons, help, and training but Riley? Riley had taken to the sky like a fucking bird. The Falcon wings had come easy to him, as natural as breathing. Sam will admit that he’s good but Riley had beenbetter.So when he finally lands, barely able to see through the tears, and demands to know what the fuck happened out there that he’d been forced to watch as his best friend, his brother, fell out of the sky and they tell him that Riley must have made a mistake—he doesn’t believe them.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Sam Wilson
Series: Tumblr Prompts [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817254
Comments: 6
Kudos: 118





	Crash Landing

**Author's Note:**

> ad1thi said:
> 
> samtony: Sam, after Riley's death, becomes obsessed with the idea that smthwent wrong with the wings. It was a routine flight and he knows Riley - he knows that Riley would've never fucked up. So the obvious conclusion is that the Air Force is hiding something. He's consumed with the idea that the Air Force is covering smth up, and - chalking it up to PTSD, he's served discharge papers. But this doesn't stop Sam and he traces the wings all the way back to one Anthony Carbonell

The thing is, Riley had been the best of them. He had. It was a simple fact. When they’d first gotten their wings, most of the rest of them had all needed lessons, help, and training but Riley? Riley had taken to the sky like a fucking bird. The Falcon wings had come easy to him, as natural as breathing. Sam will admit that he’s good but Riley had been _better_.

So when he finally lands, barely able to see through the tears, and demands to know what the fuck happened out there that he’d been forced to watch as his best friend, his _brother_ , fell out of the sky and they tell him that Riley must have made a mistake—he doesn’t believe them.

An unfortunate training exercise.

That’s what they always say when they’re trying to cover something up and that’s what they say now. Doesn’t matter that Sam can still _hear_ Riley’s last words ringing in his ears, the desperation when he told the squadron that something was wrong seconds before he went down. He tries to take it higher, gets turned away no matter who he goes to, and he wonders how high this coverup goes, who else knows that his best friend was all but murdered.

He’s discharged, honorably for his years of service and his PTSD though he’s sure they did everything in their power to try to make it a dishonorable discharge for his meddling and insistence that the truth of Riley’s death is being smothered with lies. Hard to pin a dishonorable discharge on a war hero though and Sam is the hero of the 96th Bomb Squadron.

It’s as he’s packing to go that an officer, only a few years older than Sam himself, slips into his room. Sam jumps to his feet and salutes. “Sir,” he says smartly.

“At ease,” the officer replies. He sticks his hand out. “Major Jim Rhodes.”

Slowly, Sam shakes his hand, wondering what’s going on. “Airman Wilson.” Or, well, he supposes he’s not an airman anymore. There’d been talk of him going to Randolph AFB after this tour was over to work as an instructor pilot but now he’s been discharged so that plan has gone down the drain.

“I know. Word going around the base is you’re going home.”

“That’s right,” Sam agrees.

“Any thoughts on where you’re going to go?”

Sam narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Not sure yet,” he says slowly. Are they fishing for information on him? Planning to keep an eye out on what he does? Who he talks to?

Major Rhodes nods like it’s nothing less than what he’d expected. “Do you know who made your wings?” he suddenly asks, apropos of nothing.

“Stane Industries.”

“Have you ever been to one of their facilities?”

“The one in California,” Sam says, starting to understand what might be happening. “That’s where we were outfitted for our wings.”

“Yeah, that’s a nice one,” Major Rhodes says, nodding absently. “I got to visit their New York facility myself. This was back in the 90s, back when it was still Stark Industries. I’ve still got a friend working there in R&D. You might try looking him up if you’re ever in New York. He’s a great tour guide.”

Sam smiles to himself. “What’s his name?”

“Tony.”

“Does he have a last name to go with that?”

“Not one that he recognizes anymore. Besides, you can’t miss him.”

“Everyone has to have a name.”

Major Rhodes thinks about it for a minute and then softly says, “You might try Carbonell. Tony Carbonell.”

* * *

His first attempt at getting inside Stane Industries doesn’t go well. He gets as far as the front desk where the receptionist asks who he’s there to see. He gives her the name Major Rhodes gave him, she goes as white as a sheet, and then politely informs him that no one by that name works at SI.

“Then is there a Tony who works in R&D at all?” he asks, frustrated. He can _feel_ that he’s in the right place, he just knows it. But it’s just like it was with the military: getting turned away at every corner with people who definitely know something pretending that they know nothing. And badly pretending at that. If they’re going to lie to him, the least they could do is make a decent job of it.

“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asks.

No because he doesn’t want the guy to know he’s coming.

“Then there isn’t a Tony who works here.”

He glares at her and turns on his heel, stalking out of the building, already planning how he’s going to either break in to meet with this guy or stage an appointment. SI has an underground garage attached to it and he’s walking back to his car when he hears the heels clicking behind him.

“Mr. Wilson?” someone asks.

“Who’s asking?” he says grumpily, turning to face the young woman in the pristine white suit. Seriously, who wears white to an office job? That’s just _asking_ for dirt.

“Virginia Potts, Mr. Stane’s PA,” she says smartly. “Ms. Arbogast said you’re looking for Tony Carbonell? Who sent you?”

Sam stares at her for a long time, trying to decide if she’s a friend or a foe. Ms. Potts has an impressive poker face though and she just stares back at him blandly, waiting for his answer. “Major Rhodes,” he says eventually. “He said Carbonell was a friend of his.”

Ms. Potts relaxes, dropping the tension that he hadn’t even realized she was carrying. “Rhodey,” she breathes. Her hand twitches at her side. Sam glances down at it and realizes that she’d had her thumb on a small button, hooked up to a wire that runs up through her sleeve. What was it supposed to do? Call for help? Something more sinister?

With her other hand, she extends a business card to him. He doesn’t take it. “Mr. Wilson,” she says quietly. “If Rhodey sent you, then you must be the one with the questions about the Falcon program. Take the card.”

He searches her eyes, trying to find any hint that she’s going to hurt him. But her expression is open now, earnest, and he gingerly reaches out and takes it. It’s mostly blank with only a short address in upstate New York printed on it.

“Ms. Potts?” he asks. “What is this?”

There’s no answer and when he looks back up, he realizes that she’s long gone.

* * *

The address leads him to a small cabin in the backwoods.

“I’m gonna be murdered,” he mutters as he climbs out of the car. “This was a terrible idea. I should never have trusted Rhodes. I am definitely gonna be murdered.”

“If I was going to murder you, I wouldn’t have picked the most suspicious location in the entire state to do it.”

Sam doesn’t shout but it’s a near thing. He spins, hand automatically reaching for the pistol in his back pocket, to see a short man in his early thirties standing a few feet away, his own hands jammed into his pockets.

“Sorry,” the man says but he doesn’t sound apologetic. “You must be Sam.”

“Who are you?” he asks instead of confirming it.

The man’s lips quirk in an unamused smile. “Tony.”

“Tony what?” he asks, thinking about what Rhodes had said and how the name had sounded unfamiliar in both his and Potts’ mouths. _You might try Carbonell_.

“Just Tony.”

“Rhodes said you were Tony Carbonell.”

Tony barks out a laugh. “Is that what he says?” he asks. “Carbonell was my mother’s name.” He turns and heads for the cabin. “Are you coming? Rhodey said you had questions about the Falcon program.”

“And you’re the one with the answers?” Sam asks.

“No. But I’m the one who’s going to help you _get_ the answers. So. Are you coming?”


End file.
